Raw Power
by HorrorDreams
Summary: Dean is having some strange nightmares--and they might be coming true. Yes, I put this up before, but was having trouble uploading the last chapters, so here is the whole story now. R
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One ~ "Nightmares and Victims"  
"Woah, I know this room. It's me and Sammy's room from that one motel in Albuquerque  
from when we were younger," Dean thought, recognizing the fluffy red carpeting and the end  
tables that were littered with hotel candy wrappers - their dad's version of dessert from the past  
few nights. He saw his little brother, Sam, sitting at the desk in the corner, drawing.

"Everything seems the same, but something feels...off." Dean noticed while walking over to peer  
at whatever Sam was working on.

Silently, he laughed at the brightly-colored rainbow and clouds his brother was drawing.  
"Ah, Sammy, six years old and already on your way to wuss-dom."

The phone in the kitchen started to ring, "Must be dad," Dean heard his younger self say while  
putting out an arm to stop his little brother already on his way to answer it (Little? He had  
forgotten how small Sam used to be before he had that big growth spurt one summer.). "Wait,  
Sammy," he ordered, "Dad said to wait for two rings and then he'd call back, remember?"

Little Sam frowned and returned to the desk while Dean went into the kitchen to get the phone.

He waited for the next call and picked it up on the first ring.  
"Hello?"  
There was a buzz and some weird clicking noises.  
"Dad? Hello?" No response.  
A sudden scream ripped through the eerie slence.

"Sammy?!" Dean crossed the kitchen with three long strides expecting to be in the door  
frame and about to find the monster causing his brother's fright, but finding himself back at the  
table instead, the phone still in his hand.

"This isn't right," Dean thought, "this isn't what happened. I think I would've  
remembered Sammy getting hurt!"

The screaming continued and Dean, throwing the phone to the ground, walked faster and faster  
to the point of running. Each time he reached the doorway, he was back at the kitchen counter,  
phone in hand, filled with utter rage and panic.

"Sam! Sammy?!"

The floor continued to grow underneath Dean's feet as if someone had put a treadmill there and  
decided to turn it on at just the wrong moment as some sort of sick joke. The screaming seemed  
to have stopped, making Dean panic further. He kept running, cursing himself for ever making  
fun of Sam's high-pitched scream.

"There, there, Samantha, it's only a fake skeleton," he'd say, patting his brother on the back.

He ran and ran to no avail, still panting his brother's name until he felt a hand shove his  
right shoulder, forcing him to fall and slam his head against the tiled floor and awake in a  
completely different hotel room, Sam's hand shaking the same shoulder.

"Hey Dean!"

Big Sammy sat back on his bed after seeing that Dean was finally awake, a concerned look on  
his face.  
"What was that about, you okay?"

"What was what about man and why the hell'd you wake me up? Need to catch up on my  
beauty sleep," Dean said, rubbing his eyes.

"Dude, you were screaming like a little girl."

"I was?"

Sam rolled his eyes then jumped at the sound of his cell phone ringing.

"Oh come on!," Dean complained, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over his face, "Who  
the hell calls at," he looked at the clock on the wall, "9:30 in the morning?"

Sam got up from the bed and answered his cell on the dresser. "Oh, hey Bobby."  
Dean sat up and waited.

"Another one?" Sam grabbed a pen and wrote something on a yellow notepad that read "Country  
Music Inn" at the top of it. "Yeah, okay. Alright we'll check it out." He flipped his phone closed.

"So another kid commit suicide?" Dean guessed.

"Yeah, there's definitely something going on in this town. That's the fifth kid this month. Bobby  
got the address," Sam said, holding up the notepad.

"Well then, let's go get our new aliases," Dean got up and added with a grin, "You be  
Bonnie, I'll be Clyde."

*********************************

Slamming down her searing knife into the cutting board, Mrs. Stokes sighed in utter  
annoyance at the sound of the doorbell ringing for the umpteenth time. She took off her apron  
and threw it down on the counter top.

"Probably more visitors coming to 'mourn' Julius," she thought as she walked over and  
opened the door, "As if casseroles will bring my son back." She was surprised, instead, to find  
two strange men at her doorstep.

The shorter of the two men, who also happened to be tan and handsome, smiled.

"Hello miss, I'm Officer Armstrong," he said, flashing a badge. "This is Dr. Hill," he  
indicated the taller brunette. "Are you Mrs. Stokes?"

"Yes, I am," she replied, her heart skipping a beat.  
"How can I help you?"

"Well Mrs. Stokes, we're investigating the recent suicides of the children in this area  
including your son, Julius. We're here to ask you a few questions."

Mrs. Stokes nodded slowly and motioned for them to come in, closing the door after they  
had. She took a seat on the chair in the living room; Dean and Sam, the couch across from it.

"So what do you need to know?" she asked crossly.

"Well, first off, how exactly did your son kill himself?" Dean inquired. Sam elbowed his brother in the ribs, Dean was never good at being subtle.

Mrs. Stokes frowned in confusion, "I've already told the police that." she said.

"This is a separate investigation, ma'am," Sam cut in, ignoring his brother's angry glare, "being run by social services."  
"Social services?!" she cried, "Why I never - -"  
"If you'll just answer a few questions, this'll all be over a lot quicker," Sam said forcefully, but  
not unkindly. "Very well," she replied, sighing.

Mrs. Stokes suddenly found it hard to keep eye contact and looked at her hands in her lap  
instead. "Well, that morning, I found him on the kitchen floor. He seemed to have stabbed  
himself in the chest with one of my cooking knives," she looked up at the two men, tears  
forming in her eyes. "The other officers said there were no signs of murder, no prints were  
found. I think they said, from how deep the wound was, that it could not have been an accident  
either, but it had to have been!" She looked back and forth from officer to doctor. "An  
eight-year-old doesn't commit suicide!"

"Were there any signs before Julius died, Mrs. Stokes? Had he been acting differently at  
all?" Dean interjected.

"No," Mrs. Stokes shook her head. "He was his usual happy self."

Sam noticed a little girl in the next room over quietly playing with her dolls. "Is that Julius'  
sister?" he asked.

"Yeah that's Katherine."  
"May I speak with her for a moment?"  
When she nodded, he walked over to Katherine and spoke to her in whispers.

Dean continued his conversation with Mrs. Stokes.  
"What was going on the day before Julius died?"

"It was his and Katherine's birthday. We had a party." Tears started to trail down her  
cheeks, she looked at her daughter and Dean followed her gaze. "I even had a magician come to  
perform. Julius loved magicians, he said he always wanted to meet one in person." She turned  
back to Dean and smiled a little, "He really believed in magic."

"What was the magician's name?" Dean inquired, wondering briefly why such a pretty  
lady was still single.

"Umm...Charles Hayworth, I think. Oh, wait, I have his business card, I'll go get it." She got up  
and went into the next room.

A moment later, Mrs. Stokes was back with a purse in one hand and the card in the other.  
She handed the card over. Dean took it as he stood, glancing over at Sam who was just departing  
from the little girl. He looked back at Mrs. Stokes. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Stokes, I  
think that's all the information we need. Am I right, doctor?" Sam nodded and added,  
"We're sorry for your loss ma'am, if you think of anything else, give us a call," he handed her a  
piece of paper with his cell phone number on it.

Mrs. Stokes had just closed her front door when Dean asked, "Well doctor, have fun  
playing dolls with Katherine?"

"I was trying to find out if she knew anything about Julius' death," Sam said as they  
walked down the front driveway. "Figured she might have seen something, but came up with  
nothing, you?"

"The day before Julius killed himself, they had a birthday party and momma got him  
a magician. What do you think?"

"I don't know," Sam said, scratching his head. "I've never heard of children this young killing  
themselves before."

"Well, according to his business card," Dean said before getting into the Impala, "this  
Charles Hayworth guy doesn't live too far from here, what do you say we go pay him a visit?"


	2. Chapter 2

Raw Power  
Chapter Two--Innocent or Guilty

Dean's adrenaline was pumping when he turned off the Impala and took the keys out of the ignition. He could not explain it for certain, but he had a feeling, a gut instinct, about this Charles Hayworth guy.

"Same gig as last time?", he asked, turning to Sam, who was staring out the  
window, gazing at the magician's little brick house.  
"Yeah," he mumbled as a reply.

Not in the mood for a real heart to heart, Dean got out of the Impala and walked  
up to the magician's house, ringing the doorbell. Sam followed suit a few moments  
afterwards.

In less than a minute, a thin, balding man answered the door. At best, he was  
in his later thirties. He wore a rose red vest over a white, long sleeve, dress shirt, with  
slick black slacks to match. He looked like the stereotypical magician, all he  
really needed to complete the look was a top hat with a bunny sticking out of it.

"Can I help you gentlemen?", asked the magician, with abundant politeness.  
Dean detected a note of insincerity in his voice and gave a small fake grin, but Sam only found the man's greeting respectful.

"That's what we're hoping, sir," Dean said, trying to keep his tone up to Sam's  
criteria of propriety. "I'm Officer Armstrong, from the Eureka Springs police department,  
and this is Dr. Hill, with social services. Are you CharlesHayworth?"

"Yes, I am," the man replied. "I don't understand, though, have I done something  
wrong, officer?"

"Of course not, sir," Dean said with some restraint. "We're investigating the  
suicide of Julius Stokes. I believe you performed at his birthday party about a week ago, we were  
hoping to ask you a few very important questions about that day."

"Oh--", Hayworth seemed taken aback slightly. "Come right on in then." He  
moved aside to let the Winchester brothers enter. As soon as they walked in, they were  
faced with one messy household. Messy and bland, that is, the typical bachelor's  
household.

While Sam seemed unfazed by anything in the atmosphere, Dean immediately noticed a dark office adjoined to the living room. Apparently, the magician had followed Dean's gaze, because what he said next sent a chill down the older Winchester's spine.

"Why don't we take a seat over there?"

Sam was about to turn to close the front door, but stopped when the magician told him, "Oh, don't worry about the door, I'll get it." With a wave of his hand, the door closed shut and locked itself. Dean and Sam quickly looked at each other then back at the now smiling Hayworth.

Ever the epitome of politeness, he lead the way into the dark office, taking a seat behind his desk and turning on a light nearby. Sam took a seat in a chair across from him, and  
pulling a folding chair closer to Sam, Dean hesitantly sat down as well. He had a bad  
feeling about this whole meeting already.

"I know what you're thinking, but no magician ever reveals the secrets of his magic tricks," said Hayworth with a little wink. "So, gentlemen ask away, for I keep no other secrets."

"Well, Mr. Hayworth, for the record," Dean said clearing his throat, "how long have you been a magician?" He took out a small notepad and pretended to take notes. "Almost fifteen years.",  
answered Hayworth almost instantly, picking up a deck of cards nearby and starting to shuffle them. "I began not too long after my high school graduation."

"I see," Dean pretended to be interested, but was dying to skip over these  
tedious questions that Sam insisted were important for cover-up. "And do you  
perform at children's parties often?"

"Most of the people I perform for are children, of course," said the magician  
smugly. Sam watched as the magician spread his cards out on the desk and played with them.  
"On a good week, I may perform at least two children's parties a day. I also perform at  
carnivals and Halloween parties, too."

"What can you tell us about the day you performed at Julius' party?", asked Dean.

"Nothing much, actually. It was like most birthday parties. You know, cake, balloons,  
games. Nothing new or special, really," Hayworth answered calmly, he shuffled his cards one last time and placed them on the side. "The only thing that was different about that day was that my new apprentice, my understudy if you will, was performing, I was just there supervising and helping out where I could."

"An understudy?", Dean repeated, becoming increasingly frustrated with the web  
of suspects that were starting to form. He sighed despite himself. "Mr. Hayworth, what is  
your apprentice's name?"

"Christian Callaghan.", replied Hayworth. "He spent almost all his time with the  
children that day. He is very--dedicated."

Dean momentarily exchanged a glance with Sam, who seemed a lot less sure  
about the guilt of this new suspect than Dean was.

"Mr. Hayworth", Sam now interjected, much to Dean's dismay. "Did you notice anything  
strange about that day? Like the behavior of Julius, his family, some of the other  
children? Did anything seem--off?"

Dean was shocked that Sam was still questioning who the guilty party was here.  
He was amazed that Sam still could actually believe that this might be just a string of weird  
occurances. He knew it should not upset him, it was just Sam's way of operating, but at  
times like this, Sam's investigational methods greatly annoyed Dean.

"What do you mean by that?", asked the magician, sounding almost worried by  
the implication.

"I'm a psychiatrist, Mr. Hayworth. I see suicide all the time, but one thing that I am  
certain I have never encountered before is a suicidal eight year-old. Especially not one  
who has not suffered extensive abuse," Sam said convincingly, his classes in psychiatry seemed to be finally paying off. "There must have been something really bad going on in Julius' life for him to kill himself. We're just trying to find out if anything about the party struck you as...let's say, odd."

The magician seemed to be thinking about it for awhile. Sam honestly thought  
him a good man who was really trying to help, but Dean was not so easily swayed.  
Looking around the room, he saw that nearly all the books in the study were about  
supernatural topics. Most of them consisted of books on spells, and incantations.  
Typically, you did not find such books in the everyday household. Plus, considering their  
line of work, you never took such a discovery lightly. A voice of reason popped into Dean's head, arguing against his suspicions. This guy is a magician after all, maybe he's just really good at his studies?

After a few more moments, the magician replied, "Sorry, no. Nothing that seems  
to stand out anyway."

"I understand, Mr. Hayworth. Sorry for wasting your time," Sam said before  
Dean could even come-up with his next question. Furious, he grudgingly stood up and shook the  
magician's hand. He was in a bad mood now. But, there was still one thing he could do so  
that this interview was not a complete waste of time.

Just before standing to leave, Dean asked, "Mr. Hayworth, you wouldn't happen  
to be able to give us any information on Mr. Callaghan, would you? Perhaps a business  
card?"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times, Sam, you cannot assume  
innocence like that.", said Dean as he and Sam got into the Impala.

"And you cannot just assume he's guilty, Dean.", Sam retorted.

"Better to assume that's he's guilty than that he's innocent.", Dean was becoming increasingly angry  
with his brother's naivete now. "People are naturally evil, Sam. Evil exists, no one is ever  
completely innocent, man, you know that."

"Ah, more wisdom passed on by daddy dearest," Sam replied, his anger now  
rising. "Look Dean, just assuming the man is behind these horrible  
incidents--"

"Not incidents, murders, Sam. Murders," Dean said in a deadly serious tone.

Sam was trying to remain logical. "Alright, fine, if you really believe that this Hayworth is our guy, there's something we can do to find out, and be on the safe side."

"Oh, God, you don't mean--"

Sam looked at the card Hayworth had given them and then back at his brother.  
"Yep, looks like we're heading to a kiddie party, Dean.", Sam grinned as Dean, rolled his eyes and started up the Impala. "Of course, that's good news for you, there's sure to be cake."

Dean frowned then gave a short shrug.

"Maybe you'll see some of your friends there too," Sam added to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-- Where's the Friggen' Cake?

"This is hell," said Dean, as he and Sam walked underneath an archway made of red, blue, and yellow balloons that decorated the entrance to a cobblestone pathway, which lead to a big backyard. A giant banner colored to match the balloons read: "Happy Birthday Davy!"

"I mean look at this place," he continued as they casually approached a large white tent, which blocked party goers from the hot Arkansas sun. "Filled with kids and balloons--Do you even see an open bar?" Sam looked at his brother with an annoyed expression on his face. "It's a child's birthday party, Dean. Why in God's name would there be an open bar? Besides, it looks like people brought their own booze." He indicated a man holding a Budweiser sitting near the back of the yard, where a platform-like stage was set up. "And I'll bet you that this Callaghan guy will be putting on another act pretty soon, so try to pay attention."

"Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil." Dean growled, he was turning his head around, surveying the scene. The backyard was almost picture perfect to the exact kind depicted in Better Homes and Gardens magazines. Complete with the lovely patio furniture from Ikea, as well as a myriad of bright colored poppies. "Seriously, where's the friggen cake?!"

"And, once again," boomed a man's voice over a microphone. "Here is the Amazing Christos!" The brothers exchanged glances. "Guess Christian is too long a name for the showbiz world," Dean commented. The audience applauded as a man walked up on stage wearing a black cape and a top hat. He was fairly young, not much older that the Winchester boys themselves.

"For my next act", he began speaking in a very flamboyant voice. "I will make these caged birds disappear-cage and all!" He was indicating a cage of five, small, blue birds. He threw a white sheet over it. Now, I will count down from five, say a few magic words, and when I remove this sheet, you will be completely stunned." He took a deep breath. "Five, four, three, two, one! Avra Kedavra!" Removing the sheet, the flock of birds were gone and the cage as well. The magician reached one hand into the sky, and snapped his fingers, and the whole flock came flying back from behind the audience and flew by in pattern across the stage. They all landed in unison on the Amazing Christos at which point he took a graceful bow.

The audience began applauding, including a very hyper active birthday boy and his friends in the front, but, not everyone was so pleased. The man who Sam had indicated before decided to be the spokesman for this elite group. "You suck! Come on, man! Do some real magic!" He and a group of equally drunk rednecks began booing together and throwing bottle caps at the stage.

"Some real magic, hmm?" repeated the magician, his voice now serious and cold, all flamboyancy lost. "Alright then," he put his birds behind the curtain and traded them for a big, antique chair. "For this next act of mine, I will need a volunteer, anyone willing?" After a short while of scanning the raised hands in the audience, the magician's apprentice pointed at the drunk spokesman.

"Hey, man, I didn't have my hand up," the guy said defensively. When a friend of his shoved him from behind, he gave in. The heckler looked back at his friends then back at Christian. "Fine," he sniffed, putting down his beer and walking up the stairs to the stage.

"Splendid," said Callaghan, not a single ounce of joy left in his voice.

"Might I ask your name?" Callaghan asked when the man had joined him. "Yeah, Brian," he replied grumpily, sitting in the chair after the magician motioned for him to take a seat. "Well, Brian, I am going to count down from five, and you will fall into a deep sleep as soon as I snap my fingers." Callaghan then counted down and snapped his fingers and Brian's head sank forward with the rest of his body as limp as can be. "Now, I will repeat these same actions, Brian, but this time you will awaken in a trance, and be totally venerable to anything that I command." When Callaghan repeated what he had previously done, Brian awoke, looking completely dumbfounded. "Now Brian, bark like a dog," Callaghan commanded.

Without quite knowing what or why he was doing it, Brian immediately began barking like a dog. The audience burst out into laughter. Callaghan then told Brian to do the macarena and even pulled out a stereo for some music. The audience couldn't resist laughing and even Brian's drunk buddies started to laugh after a while.

"Dude," Dean began. "I know," Sam added. "So, I guess he could be behind the suicides, putting them all into trances and hypnotizing them to kill themselves. The only thing missing is a motive."

"Yeah," agreed Sam, "that and how he's doing it without getting caught or anyone seeing him. None of the reports mentioned a man in a cape and top hat."

Dean laughed, "Oh man, this guy's a horrible dancer."

Time and time again, no matter what the magician's apprentice told Brian to do, he complied. So that, ten minutes into the performance, Brian had not only barked like a dog, but jumped around, waddled like a duck, and done other just as equally humiliating things as well.

"Finally, we come to a close," said Callaghan when the audience was close to tears with laughter. "Brian, I will now count to five, and when I snap my fingers you will awaken, again in full control of your own body and you will remember nothing." As soon as Callaghan snapped his finger, Brian awoke with a look of sheer fright on his face.

"Wh-what's going on?" he mumbled. He panicked when no one answered and stumbled off of the stage and out of the backyard while everyone roared with laughter behind him.

At the end of the act, the brothers then walked out of the shadow of the cool tented area into the  
scorching sun, and to the edge of the stage, where Christain Callaghan was just descending  
from, cussing under his breath.

"Mr. Callaghan?" Sam began, in his politest voice. A voice that always made Dean think of a child begging for more candy. Callaghan seemed taken aback. "Yes...What is it?"

"Sorry to bother you," Dean cut in, "but, my buddy and I are studying to be magicians ourselves and we just, well we really admire your work." The magican's apprentice smiled. "Thank-you. It is always nice to hear from some--er, fans, I guess." "Yeah, well, especially after what they did up there to you. I mean, I probably would've snapped under that kind of pressure," Sam commented.  
"You won't, once you get used to the gigs. There is always one moron in the audience," Callaghan smiled.

"Well, you sure showed that Brian guy, hypnotizing him to humiliate himself like that. Now, how exactly did you do that?" Dean asked.

"You both should know that a true magician never reveals his secrets."

"Mind control though...Isn't that a little shady of a trick?" Dean pressed on.

"Shady?" echoed Callaghan, his smile fading quickly. "Not at all...if it is used appropriately. I told that guy what was going to happen, he could have stopped me at any time. Besides, none of the things I had him do were harmful." "But, it is possible, is it not," Sam said curiously, "to delve deep enough into a person's mind to a point where you could control their thoughts, their dreams even?"

At this point, Dean became somewhat worried, he knew that if what Sam was implying was indeed possible, he might be in big trouble.

"That is disgusting," Callaghan replied, looking absolutely repulsed. "Now, if you both will excuse me, I have to pack up to leave." Before the brothers could stop him, he had already disappeared into a black tent that was set up nearby. "A lot of good that did," Dean mumbled.

"I know what you're aiming for," said a young, blonde as she walked up, beer in hand, smirking. "What are you boys, like journalists or something?" "Yeah, you might say that," replied Dean nonchalantly. "I been suspecting some crazy evil magic stuff like that too, ever since that first kid killed himself over at the Stokes' party, that little Julius," said the woman in hushed tones, tucking one thumb underneath the top rim of her torn jean shorts. "I mean, suicides is normal, but child suicides? And so many, so close together...It's insane, that's what it is."

"Couldn't agree more," Dean smiled, turning on the old Winchester charm.

"Well, me and my girlfriends from my church all think it's these creepy magicians. They all into Voodoo or some such nonsense. You don't mettle with the unknown like that," she continued, looking Dean directly in the eyes. "It only brings chaos."  
"Wise words, from a wise woman," Dean said, suddenly getting a little flirtatious.  
Noticing this, Sam decided that it was his time to intervene.  
"Miss, you wouldn't happen to know anything else about the suicides, do you?"  
"Only that people round here is getting tired of these magic men, and are ready to start up some hell over it," she replied, still staring at Dean she began to twirl her long hair playfully. "What do you mean by that?" asked Sam, now interested. "Well, these men ain't been here a long time," she said, taking a swig of her beer. "Newcomers. Plus, right around the time they began doing their children's shows, that's when the suicides began. Like I said, Voodoo." Dean and Sam exchanged a worried glance. Noticing the woman's puzzled look, Dean turned back to her, revealing a charming smile. "Thanks for all your help, miss."

With that he and Sam decided to walk away, exiting under the balloon arch leaving behind them  
the woman's drunken calls of, "Wait, what's your number, blondie?!"

Once they were in front of the house, Dean turned to Sam and said, "So the Voodoo thing, think that's a possibility?" "Voodoo, no. But, witchcraft of some kind, possibly," Sam replied, a pondering expression on his face. "We need to check that out though, see what these magicians are up to, if they're into some kind of black magic--"

"Black magic, huh?" said a familiar voice from behind them, it was Callaghan. Dean was getting annoyed. Didn't anyone in this town mind their own business?

"That's what you think is going on here? Well, I must say in this science-driven day and age I find it an oddity to find individuals who actually adhere to those kind of magical beliefs...but, then again, I know what you mean..." Callaghan paused, then addressed his suspicion, "You're not here just 'cause you're interested in magic, are you boys?"

"Well, no..." Dean said, deciding it would do no good to keep up the lie. "We're actually investigating the recent string of murders, you wouldn't happen to know anything about those, would you?"

"Murders? Weren't they suicides?" He said, going towards the door of the van.

"Well, that is what we thought originally, Mr. Callaghan, but, recent evidence has proven otherwise," Sam stated, stepping out of Callaghan's way.

"Oh, well....." Callaghan seemed a little worried now, he looked back at Sam and Dean after closing the van door, "My mentor, Charles Hayworth, he's training me and I swear I saw--I know I did but maybe, or it doesn't have to mean--"  
"You saw something? What was it Mr. Callaghan?" Sam asked, spurring the man on, "If you believe in magic, whatever you saw could have possibly caused all these deaths, what was it?"

He suddenly seemed to snap back to reality, and looked at the brothers, a skeptical look on his pale face. "You know what, though? Charles would never do anything like that, what am I thinking? Anyways, I have to go, so," and, with that, Callaghan got into his van and pulled out of the driveway.

Once the van was halfway down the block, Sam turned to Dean with a worried look on his face. "That was--odd, to say the least. Think he could've been selling out his mentor on purpose?"

Dean was still staring down the street after the van, it was clear he was deep in thought.  
"That's just what I was thinking Sammy. Well, you're the boss, Oprah, what do we do now?"  
"We get some rest. I'm beat. Tomorrow, maybe, we head to the library - see what we can find."  
"How did I know you were gonna say that?" said Dean with disdain as he unlocked the Impala. "Maybe, we head to the library,'" He mocked Sam in a high-pitched, effeminate voice as he got into the car. "It's always the friggen' library with you."

"Goodnight," Sam yawned as he got comfortable in his bed. In the bed next to him, Dean was getting just slipping under the covers. "Yeah, back at you, Sammy."

Dean could not help but think of their mission, but decided that it was best to save up his energy for tomorrow, he figured it would be another long day. _In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Dean distinctly heard the alarm clock start to ring. "Man, wish I could sleep more, this job sucks," he thought as he began to sit up in bed._

Looking around the room, Dean instantly noticed that something was wrong. Instead of the cottage-styled lodgings of the Country Music Inn, he saw ugly olive green sheets, and strange paneled walls. A young Sam was sleeping on a similarly made-up bed next to him, sound asleep. Dean's heart skipped a beat, he had a bad feeling about what was going on. For awhile, he just looked around, trying to figure out where he was, but, a painting of a lone cow on the wall confirmed what Dean suspected.

"I remember this place," he thought. "We stayed here with Dad when he was hunting that werewolf pack in Seattle." Suddenly, a phone began ringing from another room. "Not again," Dean thought dismally. Standing up, he walked out of the bedroom, into the kitchenette, which had oddly bright orange wallpaper.

"Now I remember why I hated Seattle so much," Dean joked to himself. "Crappy view."

Hesitantly, he waited, like usual, for his father's calling signal. All went well, and still, reluctantly, Dean picked up the phone. "Hello?"

He waited, and no one answered. So he spoke again, this time, with more authority. "Hello?"

"Dean--", Dean's heart jumped at the sound of his name. It was almost as frightening as the eerie, mysterious voice that was coming from the other line, a voice interrupted by static and the sound of a sort of buzzing, and clicking noises. Dean listened onward, "You--get out--help...Sam is not who he--danger, great danger...understand?"

"Who is this?" Dean asked urgently. "What do you want from me?" He waited, and then whispered, less authority and fear dominant in his voice now, "Why do you keep calling me?" Instead of a reply, a dial tone was all Dean could hear. Aggravated, he hung up the phone. What in the world was going on? Why was he having such strange dreams? And why--

An agonized scream filled the motel room. It was young Sam. Without hesitation, Dean ran frantically into the bedroom. "Sammy?!" he threw the covers off his little brother, and, grabbing his shoulders  
began shaking him. "What is it, what's wrong?"

Sam's eyes opened, and he began to cry. "Dean...I had a nightmare!"  
Dean's heart was still racing, and when he sat down to catch his breath he...

....woke up on a motel bed in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

He looked around the room, no longer in his dream Seattle, he was able to recognize that he was still in the Country Music Inn. Sam was soundly asleep in the bed next to him, snoring lightly.

Sitting up, Dean's head was intensely throbbing. He could no longer think clearly, the nightmares were playing with his mind. After a few more minutes, he got up and dressed, deciding to go out for a walk, to clear his head, to relax.

He left the inn on Huntsville Drive, and walked just a few blocks away onto Kingston Street. He did not want to enter a club any too fancy or filled, so, when he came across a little rundown bar named Kingston Pub, he thought it perfect. He decided that he would not stay too long. He was restless and needed to walk, to ease his anxiety. Besides, it was coming close to 6 a.m., so he decided to get Sam and himself some coffee.

He came to a quaint little diner a few blocks away. Walking up to the front counter, he began to search in his jean pocket for his wallet. "Two coffees, both with milk, one with sugar," he ordered to the woman at the counter. "To go. Thanks."

Surveying the scene, Dean was not surprised to see the usual 6 a.m. senior citizen bunch. "Did you hear the latest news, Dolores?", asked a little old lady in a powder pink overcoat. "Not at all, Vivian!", said the chubby woman, Dolores. "There's been another suicide. Happened just last night," Vivian nodded along as she sipped her tea. "Jason Mendez, sixteen years old."

"The world's going to hell," said Dolores, in agreement, the two made the sign of the Catholic cross, shaking their heads and sipping their tea cordially. Upset to the point of nausea, Dean looked down into the glass case that was underneath the cash register. Inside, it was filled with cheap child's toys and candy.

There was a newspaper rack next to him, Dean picked up an issue, and instantly turned to the obituaries. He read carefully, until he came upon Jason's obituary. He suddenly felt very ill. How could they have let this happen?! When the coffees were ready, Dean bought them and the newspaper, and headed back to the Country Music Inn.

Sam was awake and waiting for him when he arrived.

"Have another nightmare?" the younger brother asked immediately.

"Did you know there's a gay bar in this town?" Dean replied, ignoring Sam's question and sitting at the table at the end of their beds. Sam rolled his eyes. "Where'd you go?"

Dean ignored him, changing the subject. "To get us coffee, and this," He handed the obituaries to Sam. "Jason Mendez, son of Juan and Anita Mendez and the latest victim of our buddy." He said, consumed with fury.

"Oh God...", Sam read the obituary solemnly. "Wait, Dean, it says Jason's wake is later today at noon." Dean nodded solemnly. Sam looked him directly in his eyes and said with the authority worthy of John Winchester, "Guess we got ourselves another agenda for today then."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - The Seal of the Left Hand Path

****Reviews are most welcomed!!!******

I think this is our best chapter so far! Hope you enjoy it!

Thorncrown Chapel was unlike any other church that the Winchester brothers had ever seen. It was absolutely beautiful. Tall and narrow, made almost entirely out of glass, it stood out magnificently in it's completely forested environment. The bright, Arkansas sun illuminated the structure, making it look almost divine itself.

As if this grand chapel was not fascinating enough, Christ of the Ozarks, a 60-foot-tall tourist attraction of Jesus that never ceases to astound newcomers in Eureka Springs, could clearly be seen through the treetops of the surrounding forest.

Sam and Dean Winchester stood on the gray stone path that lead up to the chapel, staring at the giant-sized Jesus in awe as mourners for the Jason Mendez funeral walked pass them and into the chapel for the funeral services.

"Astounding, isn't it?" said a kind but obviously curious voice from behind them.

Turning around, Sam nodded at the reverend. "Yes...it is," he said politely.  
"Excuse me gentlemen, but are you here for the wake?"  
When both brothers nodded, the reverend continued, "Then, pardon me for intruding on your solitude during this period of mourning, but we must enter the chapel now. It is time."  
"Thank you, Reverend--?"  
"McDaniels."  
"Thank you, Reverend McDaniels, excuse us," Sam replied and turned with Dean, to head towards the chapel's entrance.

"Okay, I so don't like that guy," Dean muttered quietly.  
"By the way he acted, seems like he might know the family," Sam said ignoring Dean's comment.  
"Well, it is a small town," Dean agreed.

"I think he's figured out that we don't know Jason," Sam replied, momentarily glancing back at the staunch minister as they entered the church. He stopped when Dean jutted his arm out in front of him. He motioned towards one pew in particular. "Look who showed up," Dean said venomously.  
Sam gulped as he looked over at a solemn and questionable-looking Christian Callaghan.  
"This isn't good," said Sam quietly, he could not help but stare perplexedly at the back of Callaghan's head.  
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that one out," Dean said irritably as he took the lead, walking up the chapel aisle. Sam followed close behind and they took seats two rows behind Callaghan, near the back of the church.

In the front, a woman sat in a chair, crying; no doubt this was Anita Mendez, the deceased's mother. She looked like she was in her fifties at least, wrinkles clearly visible under her black veil. Dean could not take his eyes off of the tears that slowly fell from her eyes. His heart burned with a numb, sympathetic, sorrow.

Sam wasn't paying as much attention to the mourners as he was studying Callaghan. The man was hunched over with his hands cupping his face. He was muttering some incoherent words to himself that Sam could swear sounded like a prayer. Which could very well be the actions of a guilty man...

A sudden eruption of crying from behind him pulled Sam out of his train of thought. Turning his head around, he noticed Brian, the heckler from the birthday party the day before. He looked drunk again and had begun weeping on a bench beside a woman just outside the church entrance.

"Hush..." the woman consoled. Sam recognized the woman comforting Brian. She was from the party too and was the one that had urged Brian to go up on stage for one of Callaghan's last magic tricks. Sam strained to continue listening to the conversation outside. "It's okay, Bri. We gotta be strong for Juan and Anita now..."

To his left, Dean was still staring at Mrs. Mendez. His heart clenched up and he filled with hatred when he saw Callaghan rise from his seat and walk up to speak to the grieving mother. Who was he, a cold-blooded murder, to do such a thing?!

"Sam," he said roughly, trying to gain his little brother's attention.  
"What?" Sam still did not turn around to look, his eyes were glued to Brian. He had just noticed the hidden shape of a gun tucked into the back of his pants, hidden by his dress shirt. He was just about to stand up when Dean stopped him in his tracks.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean whispered angrily, hitting him in the arm. "He's talking to the mother."  
Sam turned to look, sure enough, there stood Callaghan next to Mrs. Mendez, talking quietly.  
"We can't do anything, Dean," he said, not being able to get the bad feeling he had about Brian's presence off his mind.

"Yeah, well, I can," muttered Dean reaching for the gun in his waistband.

"Don't be moronic, Dean. We still don't know if he's the murderer," Sam countered, stopping his reach. He turned back to look at Brian, but Brian was no longer in sight.

Panic arose in Sam. He shifted his body to look outside the other windows of the church and immediately saw Brian. He was heading up Magnetic Mountain, toward the statue Christ of the Ozarks.

Out of gut instinct, Sam felt that he needed to follow the man. So, instantly, he stood up and, without a single word to Dean, headed through a side door and into the woods.

"Sammy?" Dean asked as he watched his brother quickly walk outside and off the path into the forest. "Damnit!" He muttered to himself, before taking off after him.

As soon as Sam was off the path, he broke into a sprint. With every footstep, his anxiety over the situation increased. Never before in his life had he been so grateful for his long legs.

Dean was struggling somewhat to keep up and to figure out exactly where Sam was heading. Once he came to a slight rising hill in the forest ruff, he saw exactly what Sam was up to. He was heading towards the feet of Jesus of the Ozarks, where a man stood near the edge of the cliff, a gun pointed to his head.

"Brian!" Sam was screaming at the top of his lungs. His face flushed with sweat and tears of aggravation as sharp branches scraped across his face and arms.  
"Brian! Brian, wait!"  
Turning his head around, Brian saw the tall, brown-haired man running at him. The young man looked somewhat familiar, but Brian could, in no way place where he'd seen him before and was not in the mood to either.

"Leave me," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "I must do this now."

"What?" Sam panted coming to halt in front of him. He bent over slightly, trying to catch his breath without having much success. He was roughly fifteen feet away from Brian and the edge that lead to the jagged rocks over two miles below.

"Brian, listen to me, you don't want to do this...Just- just give me the gun alright?"

Brian looked over at him, the only sense of humanity left flourished only within the deepest depths of his eyes. They seemed to be crying out for help, to be saved, rescued. "I do not know. But, I have to."

Sam nodded tirelessly. "Yeah, I know, but this isn't you, Brian. Someone's forcing you to do this."

Dean finally caught up with Sam and stopped about five feet away from him, not daring to talk. These kind of matters are where Sam excelled.

"I--I have to. I have to jump. I have to leave now," Brian said again apparently deciding to change his mode of suicide while looking back out over the wide range of the mountain. He turned back to Sam, but this time, his expression had changed completely. An eerie smile crept across his face as he slowly pointed the gun at Sam. "You must leave now," he whispered only just loud enough for Sam to hear.

"You!" Dean suddenly yelled when he saw the magician, Callaghan, run up from behind him, eyes full of terror.

"No--you don't understand," he pleaded, putting his hands up defensively when Dean pulled out his gun at lightning speed, "this is insane, every one, every time--"

"Every time what?!" Dean spat, anger still relevant, but confusion, too, erupting from him now. He quickly glanced back at the situation behind him then back at the magician.

"Eh-Every time I get near one of them at a party....They always kill themselves...I don't know--This can't be true--It's---It's impossible!"

Dean looked at him curiously for a moment before replying. Meanwhile, behind him, Sam's calm but earnest pleas to convince Brian not to kill himself continued.

"You were about to say something about Charles Hayworth yesterday, your mentor, what was it?"  
"No--no, you don't understand, Charles would never seriously, and--"  
"What was it?!" Dean yelled viciously. When the magician said nothing, Dean lost his patience, "People are dying here, Callaghan, that man is about to take his own life! Tell me what's going on here now!" He cocked his gun.

"Okay...Okay. There's this necklace," said Callaghan breathlessly, glancing worriedly between Dean, Sam, and Brian. "It seems harmless...But, it sounds crazy, but this necklace Hayworth owns, it has a symbol on it that I have seen before. I mean, I recognize it, from magic books, real ones. Pagan magic. Black magic. Evil. It is supposed to represent the path to Satan and the use of dark magic. I think it was called the Seal of the Left Hand Path or something."

"No s***?" Dean looked at him quizzically, but somehow, deep down, he knew that the magician was telling the truth, he lowered his gun.

"Seal of the Left Hand Path Sam! Sammy, did you hear that?"

But, Sam had not. Just as Dean turned around, his ears rang with the sound of a gun shot and Callaghan's loud cries. Sam tackled Brian and the gun fired off once more into the distance as the two slammed into the monument and crash-landed on the grass just below Giant Jesus' feet.  
Rushing over to them, Dean helped Sam stand up. "What the hell were you thinking?!" he shouted, fear overcoming his other emotions.  
"Brian--" Sam said, ignoring his brother and addressing the other man. "Are you okay?"

Numbly, the man nodded, still laying on the ground he looked to be in a great deal of both shock and pain and yet he seemed otherwise to be back to his normal, drunken state.

Suddenly, from off in the distance, the woman who had comforted Brian came running, with much difficulty, in her high-heels. "Brian! Oh God, Brian!" Tears were streaming down her face, as she rushed passed both the magician and the brothers and dove down next to her boyfriend.

"I heard gun fire. Are you okay?"  
"Babe..." Brian murmured, still in shock. "Gotta go home, baby..."  
"Yes," she agreed tearfully. "This is just too much, isn't it? I knew we shouldn't'a come here. Too many deaths, too soon...We should go home, you need to rest." She helped her boyfriend stand up, and glanced over at Sam, a look of both curiosity and appreciation on her face. "Thank-you."  
No one said a word to them as the couple headed back to the chapel.

Shaking nervously, the magician walked over to the brothers. "Do you really think Charles could be behind all this madness?"

"Don't know," Dean replied. "But, it's our job to find out and stop whatever is."

"Is there any way I can help?" Callaghan asked, almost hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "No, not really--"

"Yes," a still breathless Sam intervened. "Follow them home." He motioned to Brian and his girlfriend who were still walking down the mountain. "Just be discreet about it, make sure they get home alright."

Callaghan nodded, seeming almost grateful for the opportunity to help out. "Sure thing."

He began to walk away, and then halted, and turned around halfway to face the brothers. "If you need any other help, you know my number..." With that he too began descending down the small mountaintop.

Once the brothers had caught their breath, they headed back towards Thorncrown Chapel and to the Impala parked just outside on the gravelly road.

Before Dean started the engine, he took one last glance at the Christ of the Ozarks.  
"Jesus, that thing is huge," he said, winking at Sam with a grin on his face. Stifling back a laugh, Sam sighed and closed the door to the Impala.

They both knew where they needed to go next - the library.

*~*~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~**  
Like most libraries, the Eureka Springs public library was a paradise for Sam Winchester, but for his brother, Dean, libraries were a source of boredom and infantile dislike. "So, when we gonna go?"

"Sam looked curiously at his brother. "You're so immature, we literally just got here. Just hang tight, alright?"

"To what?" Dean sighed, pulling up a chair by the computer Sam had chosen. Dean had always hated libraries. Hell, he hated reading altogether, but, because his career path required so much research, he gradually got used to reading so much. Not that that made him hate libraries any less.

Sam pulled out the card that Mrs. Stokes had given them earlier. "First, we should do a background check on this Charles Hayworth guy, see if he has any priors, or if there's anything else suspicious." Sam typed the name into the search box and hit the enter key. "Let's see here...Born in Illinois, high school education only...no priors, nothing I'd classify as suspicious at all really. Well, except that it doesn't mention that he plays a magician at kids' parties...And that he died in 1986."

"Well, that isn't suspicious at all," Dean said sarcastically. Sam rolled his eyes.

"That man was corporeal, Dean. The only physically apt undead I've ever heard of are vampires and maybe zombies," Sam informed his brother, voice full of both worry and frustration.

"What about that necklace Callaghan mentioned? That black magic stuff he blabbed on about. Could that be it? Some kind of witchcraft or something...?" Dean suggested, genuinely trying to be helpful now.

"Good thinking..." Sam nodded, putting his concentration face on. "Okay, I'll research the necklace, you go find some books on like magicians, maybe wizards."

"Wizards?" Dean laughed. "Like Harry Potter?"

Sam glared at him. "Just go find some damn books."

"Fine," Dean said, standing up and walking away. "Was always more of a Gandalf fan myself."  
As he walked away, he studied the signs posted on the sides of the bookcases. One, categorized as "Philosophy Religion and Mythology," stood out. He turned the corner, scanning the book titles and took his time to pick out several books. He then made his way to a clearing in the library where several tables were set up for studying.

Sighing, he sat down and opened the first book on the top of his stack, "The Ways of Wizard Kind," and began to read. Dean could not help but laugh as soon as he began reading the introduction. He was willing to believe a lot of crazy stuff, but he refused to believe that there was a parallel dimension created just for wizards. Setting the book aside, he picked up another one "Magick: World of Hidden Secrets" and began to read again. Unlike Sam, Dean did not find reading a fascinating pastime and, having gone days without a peaceful night's sleep, it was not long before he found himself yawning incurably.

Trying desperately to stay awake, he propped the book up and held his head up by placing it in the palm of his free hand, but, his efforts were useless. His eyes lazily closed shut, and soon his hand gave way. His head slumped onto the table, knocking the book over and he fell into a deep slumber.

_"Dean!" the voice was recognizable, it was Sammy's alright, but it was much deeper than it was in the other dreams. Not like it is now, but still deeper. "Dean! Dean! Wake-up Dean! We gotta go!"_

The black nothingness faded away, and Dean's eyes opened.

He lifted his head up from the kitchen table and looked around. He was face to face with a terrified-looking Sam, who appeared to be somewhere in his early teens. "Dad called, Dean. He's in trouble. We need to get going," was all Sam said before turning around and heading over to a bed where several guns were sprawled out.

"Where is he?" Dean found himself asking, without even meaning to.

"Near the woods. He needs our help," Sam replied instantly. Dean could sense the intense worry in his voice. "Said to wake you."

Dean felt his mind racing. That was odd for their Dad to do, he rarely ever called for help...

"Are you sure it was him, Sammy?"

"Of course. I know Dad's voice, stupid," Sam tossed an empty gun at him. "Come on, let's move it."

Finally standing up, Dean loaded his gun and grabbed another one before following Sam out of the motel room. They were in the forest as soon as they walked outside, only a narrow gravel road separated the rundown motel and a large patch of unruly forest that covered up each side of the trail.

"He said he'd be walking up the path soon, that something might be following him..." Sam informed. He was a few steps ahead of the older Winchester and cautiously, almost tip-toed as he walked. Dean grinned, he suddenly remembered Sammy's awkward, gangly years in which he was always jumpy and nervous. Hasn't really changed all that much...

"There he is!" Sam's voice broke into Dean's thoughts, as he, without notice, began sprinting farther down the road to an injured John Winchester.

Dean began to walk after him, but was hesitant, something was off about this picture. Something deep down within him did not feel right. It was something in his father's eyes as he allowed Sammy to glance at his arm wound and--

Dean suddenly pushed hard off the ground and ran as fast as he possibly could towards Sam.

The thing that was John Winchester grinned at Dean as he approached. He stabbed Sam hard in the stomach then let go of the knife, forcing the younger Winchester to crumple into a heap on the ground.  
"Two down, one to go, Dean," he laughed, aiming a pistol at Dean's head.

Shapeshifter! Dean's mind cried out. He kept running and held up his shotgun, aiming it at the look alike of John and firing it with deadly accuracy right at the skinwalker's heart. He dove as he shot, coming to a sudden halt and scraping his body against the gravel on the ground. He cautiously looked up and saw that the figure of John Winchester was dead. Something Dean was all too used to seeing. But, that was not what mattered now. He hoisted himself up, and went over to Sam, who was still laying on the ground. The knife was still half-way lodged within his stomach, and the blood was seeping out fast.

"Damnit, Sammy..." Dean whispered sadly, feeling tears form in his eyes. This felt all too real!

He reached down and picked the skinny boy's body up, slowly walking back to the motel room with him. Freezing cold rain began to drizzle from the gray clouds in the night sky overhead.

Once inside, Dean gingerly laid Sammy's dying body down on the couch in front of the window. Life was visibly leaving his little brother's face and the cold afterlife beyond threatened to secure it's hold on him. "Sammy," Dean cried as he grabbed a blanket and tried to mop up some of the blood.

"I think I'm gonna have to pull this out," he indicated the knife, "I think I have to try, at least..."

With that, he reached down and with tender effort pulled the knife out from Sam's insides. It made a sickening noise, and Dean had to hold back his own vomit as he watched poor Sammy's face contort in agonizing pain that he could not express verbally.

He took the rest of the blanket and wrapped it around Sam's stomach, watching it soak his blood up far too fast.

"Sammy," Dean cried again, "Sammy, I--"

The phone rang, and fear crept through Dean, mind, body, and soul. He glanced between the phone and Sam before getting up to answer it. This time, he said nothing, and only waited for whatever was on the other side to speak.

"Dean," the voice said once more. It was just as eerie as the first time Dean had heard it, but, this time, he could hear it loud and clear. "Dean Winchester, if you do not stop what is going on--It is your brother who will have to pay the price, just as he is paying now," Dean turned around, and looked down at the younger Sam. The boy's face was now the color of sheer death. "It's the necklace, Dean," the voice continued. "It holds all his powers. You have to destroy it, Dean."

Dean took in a deep breath, "Who's powers?"

"His real name is Daniel Moses. He has been using my good name as his alias. He is using his powers, the powers of a shaman, to capture souls and place them in the necklace forever."

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Why? What does he get out of it?"

"Power. The more souls he captures, the more power he is bestowed. He gains their life energy," the voice said, mysteriously. "He will take all he can and he will never stop. He started with mine and discovered that it was far too difficult, took too much time. So he began again, this time with children. There minds are---weaker, easier to get control of and to take over. But he has gained more power since then and more control over his abilities...."

"How do you know all this?" Dean asked cautiously, not yet trusting the voice. "Who are you?"

There was a long pause before the reply came.  
"I am the real Charles Hayworth. Sadly, I was the one that trained that imposter to become a shaman, he was my aprentice...Due to what I once was, I am able to reach somewhat beyond these chains that bind my soul it is also because of that that I know such things. I, like the souls of Julius Stokes, Jason Mendez and countless others, am stuck within the powers of the necklace where we are trapped for all eternity. That is unless..."

Dean waited impatiently for a few seconds and then said with great frustration, "Unless what?"

"Unless you can destroy the necklace, and set all of the souls free. If you don't, your brother will surely---"  
Static and familiar clicking noises cut him off.

"What?" Dean asked, his voice pained.

The line suddenly went dead.

"Wait, no...Wait!" Dean called out, but decided that it was pointless.

He hung up the phone, and slowly walked back over to the younger, dying dream-version of Sam. "I don't want to see this," he murmured, as he watched teenage Sam breathe his last breath. "I can't watch this..."

Suddenly, Sam sneezed.

"Ach-oo!" the young, wavy-haired brunette looked up from her economics textbook and blushed at the handsome man on the other side of the table who had suddenly jerked awake.

"God! Bless you!" he exclaimed, his mood quickly changing from anger into flirtation, as an  
alluring grin spread across his face.

"Thank you," the woman replied, smiling as she got up and left the table.

He was just about to call her back when Sam took her seat, a book in his hand. "Dean, I found something." Dean looked grumpily at his brother, but didn't say a word.

"The power this Hayworth guy seems to have, it's all in that necklace that  
Callaghan told us about," Sam explained to him. "See, this necklace it can--"

"Capture souls," Dean finished for him.

"How did you know that?" Sam asked, astonished at the very idea that his brother had obtained some bit of mythological knowledge he had not yet known about.

"Sheesh, give me some credit," Dean said defensively, trying to hide his amusement at Sam's confusion. His demeanor quickly changed to serious again though as he remembered the vision of a younger, dying Sam. "We need to get over to Hayworth's pronto."

REVIEWS = LOVE!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Power

Christian Callaghan tries to confront his mentor about the town's murders, but finds himself Hayworth's next volunteer in his latest magic trick instead.  
While the Winchesters were at the library, Christian Callaghan was following his orders and keeping a close eye on Brian and his girlfriend as they slowly walked up the cement pathway and into their house. He was still in shock by all of the drama that had just occurred. He could still feel his heart beating a mile a minute and his throat was now dry and scratchy, the way it usually became when he was nervous. Anxiety was the only emotion that he had been able to feel for over the past twenty-four hours, ever since those two shady guys came into town. Although the practical side of his mind told him not to trust anyone who believed in real magic, a deeper part of him knew that they were right and that something unnatural was going on in his unfortunate, little town.

Once he saw that Brian and his girlfriend were safely inside their house, Christian started his car up again and his green Ford Taurus crept slowly down the block. He did not feel like going home. He just wanted to drive around a while and think. He could not shake the feeling that, somehow, his mentor was guilty of killing all those innocent children.

Just as he turned the corner, his cell phone rang. Christian did not even bother to check the number. He did not want to talk to anyone right now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

The phone kept ringing. Christian continued to ignore it until it got on his last nerve. He slipped it out of his pants pocket and glanced at the number. _Charles._

He could hear his conscious crying out to him not to answer the phone, but, once again, the practical and always logical side of him intervened. _He'll know something will be up if I don't answer him..._Without another moment's hesitation, he answered the phone.

"Hey, Charlie," he said, trying to make his voice as relaxed as he could. He knew immediately, though, that he was not doing a very good job of it. "What's up?"

"Chris? Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I--I just got back from the boy's funeral is all. That Jason Mendez kid. Remember him?"

"Hmm...Vaguely, I suppose." There was a moment of silence before Hayworth continued talking. "Look, if this is not a good time.."

"No, no. It's fine. What is it?" Christian replied, a bit too forcefully.

"I wanted to show you a new trick. I think it's time you learned it. Can you stop by now?"

Christian looked around, out the window he could see a mother calling her two young children in for dinner. His heart broke at the thought of the fate that might await them and he knew, deep down, that he had to do something. "'Of course, it could probably do me some good in my act." He laughed dryly. "I'll see you soon."

He hung up the phone without waiting for a reply from Hayworth. Impulsively, he made a sharp turn on the next street, and sped off, going well over the speed limit, heading to Hayworth's little brick home.

Callaghan stared at the door a few moments before leaning forward and ringing the doorbell. He wanted to vomit, he could not even think about having to look into the eyes of the murderer who had pretended to be his friend. After less than a minute, the door opened and there stood his now former mentor, smiling like he always did. It was not until that moment that Christian realized just how much of an idiot the guy really looked.

"Well, you got here quick," he said, flashing a smile as he let Callaghan enter.

"Speeding again, huh? Gonna get your license revoked if you don't cut that out, kid."

Christian tried to react to the comment, but he was far too nervous, and was shifting awkwardly now, from one foot to the other. He could feel his skin crawling, and it was starting to make him nauseous. "The trick-" he blurted out accidentally. He quickly straightened himself and continued, "Uhh, what was that trick you wanted to show me boss?"

The magician chuckled slightly, but quickly morphed back to his stoic demeanor. "Follow me. It is a bit complex so I'll just show you."

Christian hesitantly followed Hayworth into his office. Just about the only place in the house that unsettled him and looked out of place. They passed through the aged, wooden, double doors and into the office. "I had actually been practicing this one for a while before telling you of it," Hayworth said while going to the bookcase behind his large oak desk. He stared at one particular book for a while before turning back to Callaghan. "What would you say, Callaghan, if I told you that you could make your wildest dreams come true?" Hayworth asked enthusiastically as he placed his hands on his desk and leaned towards Callaghan, "Wouldn't you like to wield such power if you knew how to obtain it?"

"I suppose that would depend upon the cost of such a power," Christian replied quietly. Something in Hayworth's eyes really started to frighten him. Hayworth's demeanor changed instantly at this response, "Yes, my mentor once said something along those words." He turned his back and pressed on the spine of the book he looked at. Callaghan jumped as the double doors behind him snapped shut and the bookcase in front of him separated like a pair of automatic doors. Lights flickered on inside of the hidden room as Hayworth took a step inside.

He looked back at Christian, turning his charm back on as he smiled. "So, that trick would require a volunteer from the audience," Hayworth continued, ushering Callaghan inside.

The room had stone walls and was, for the most part, completely barren, except for a table and two old chairs inside. "I see you are surprised. Well, I don't blame you. I don't believe that I have ever showed anyone this room before. Pretty cool, is it not?" He chuckled to himself, as though praising himself for his secrecy. "Come right on in, Chris. Feel free to take a seat right here." The magician pulled out the chair at the farthest end of the table for his apprentice to sit in. Reluctantly he went over to the chair and took a seat. Hayworth snapped some leather restraints onto Callaghan's wrists and feet. "Is this really necessary? What exactly is the trick?" Callaghan immediately asked in a shaky voice. "You will see soon, don't worry, it is a rather simple trick once you get the hang of it," said the magician, as he walked around to the opposite side of the table. He stood there staring at his young apprentice until the young man asked cautiously, "Wh-what now?"

"What now?" the magician repeated, his voice going up an octave. "What now he says...Now, I'll tell you why you are really here, Christian."

It was as if a siren started wailing inside his head, Christian violently began to fidget in his bondage. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, starting to feel outright panic.

"I am talking about the truth, about this." From inside his pants pocket, the magician took out the necklace. The necklace that Christian had told Sam and Dean all about. There, with it dangling in the air, Christian could clearly see the golden glint of the Seal of the Left Hand Path. "Do you have any idea what this means to me, Christian? What this little necklace symbolizes in my life? I know you've wondered about it before."

Engulfed in terror, Christian did not even care to reply as he twisted and turned, struggling to break free from his restraints.

"Power. That is what it means, Chris, power. Pure in all it's glory: power. All the strength and knowledge and agility that one could ever desire is embedded in this one thing that every human being has ever desired, has ever lusted for. This little necklace has helped me gain all the power I could ever have longed for." Those last words echoed in Christian's head. He looked up, into the eyes of the mad magician, and came face to face with pure insanity.

"With this one little necklace I can gain all the life force that I will ever need, I can make myself a god." The magician chuckled again. His laugh was no longer chipper, but had now transformed into wickedness. "A god among men. Among lowly humans. And you could be a part of that power."

"What?!" Christian suddenly blurted out. "'A god among men'?! You're insane..."

The magician suddenly became very stern. "Christian.."

"NO!" the anger and hatred Christian had felt earlier was now renewed, and he could feel his entire body shake with frustration. "I don't want your power. I don't want your power because it was not yours to begin with. You stole it, all of it by murdering innocent children!"

"No one is ever completely innocent. The children had to be harvested, Christian, for their life force. The younger they are the more energy they have. The more power a shaman can squeeze out of their souls," the magician said matter-of-factly.

"You're sick, you're completely mental..."

The magician sighed, seeming to be slightly disappointed, but then a giant grin swept over his haughty face again. "I am assuming here, and correct me if I am wrong, that you are refusing to enjoy the glory with me?"

"You're kidding, right? I wouldn't join you if my life depended on it!" Christian screamed as loudly as he could.

"Oh, but you see Christian, your life does depend on it," The magician took several steps forward and got on the table. He laid down on it with his arms placed at his sides, his large grin still spread across his face. "And pay for your sins you shall...as we all do, as we all must...unless we are gods..." With that he shut his eyes tightly and delved deep into the hidden fortresses of his mind, and of his soul.

Within a few moments, Christian felt a pang in his heart, and a white hot pain in his head. He saw his whole life flashing before him, and felt as he had felt in all those moments of the past. It was as though his mind had been ruptured. Strength drained from all his muscles.

It was a deeper feeling that was sending Christian into true hysterics, the feeling that all of his emotions and his reasoning were leaving him. As though all he was going to be left with was a big, empty hole where his heart used to be, and absolutely nothing where his soul used to flourish.

At first, it made him feel sad, and no matter how hard he fought the feeling, he was soon encompassed in a kind of lonely depression he knew he would never recover from. The kind where tears are meaningless, as are words, or thoughts. All of that died as he felt himself slowly begin to lose against whatever was causing his struggle. He lost all emotion, and now he began losing his mind and all of his thoughts became useless. He was like a vegetable, only worse than that because, although his body and mind were now both beaten and distorted, it was his soul, the most precious aspect of that which made him human, that which separates humanity from all other creatures, was dying away. Everything faded to black.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6—Dreams and Reality

"Aww, crap," Dean said as he shifted the Impala to park. "Isn't that Callaghan's car?" Sam asked, looking at the green Ford Taurus parked beside Hayworth's (now known as Daniel Moses') car. "Damnit! We should've known better than to involve him," Dean swore as he and Sam got out and crossed the street to the porch.

One swift kick to the Shaman's door was all that was needed to break in. With their guns out, both brothers looked around cautiously, no sign of Callaghan or his predecessor. After quickly searching the rooms on the first floor, Dean said, "Looks like no ones home."

"Better make sure," Sam cautioned, motioning towards some steps leading into the basement. Dean nodded in agreement, "Okay, you check downstairs. I'll check the creepy office over there and see if I can find the necklace." Sam slipped away downstairs out of Dean's sight as he entered the office.

It was almost pitch black in the room and, with only the light behind him to reveal the way, Dean feared he would never reach the desk. He was able to breathe a little easier when he finally found the lamp and turned it on. He looked at the desk and picked up the book on it. "What the?" he wondered as he read the title, "Card Tricks for Dummies." He shrugged put the book down, and went to the other side of the desk to check the drawers.

When he found nothing, he started looking around the book cases that lined the walls.  
"Okay so Hayworth, er Moses, or whatever…his car is here along with Callaghan's but they aren't. So…" Dean lost his train of thought as he noticed that there was a book that had no dust in front of it on the bookshelf. It stood out like a sore thumb.

"Oh please tell me it's that easy," Dean murmured as he went to pull the book back, hoping to find the necklace. Before he even had a chance to grab it, the label on the book clicked inwards. Dean jumped as the double doors of the office slammed shut behind him with a metallic clang. He ran towards them and tried to pull them open to no avail. When he gave up, he began banging on them, "Sam! Hey!! Sammy!!" Sam was in the basement, so maybe he couldn't hear him? He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number.

The phone rang a few times then clicked off, as though Sam's phone had gotten disconnected. Before Dean could even begin to worry, the bookcase at the far end of the room suddenly slid apart revealing a darkened room. As a reflex, Dean pulled out his gun and aimed at the dark abyss growing in front of him.

He slowly inched forward and froze when the lights in the hidden room flickered on. Moses was laying on an old wooden table and Callaghan, Dean noticed, was tied to a wooden chair not far from it. Callaghan looked very pale, but Moses was deathly white in comparison, and neither were moving.

Dean kept his gun aimed at Moses' as he entered the room and slowly went over to check Callaghan's pulse. Callaghan was still alive, but only barely. Dean untied him from the leather restraints that were keeping him to the chair and then turned his attention back to Moses.

He carefully walked up to the table, snapped his fingers in front of the shaman's face and waved his hand about, wondering whether the guy was asleep or if it was a trap of some sort. He shrugged, whatever was going on, he didn't really care. He had a moment to end this all and he was going to take it. He aimed his gun at Moses' head and was just about to pull the trigger when his cell phone rang. It was Sam's ring tone. Dean immediately picked up his cell, worried that the noise might wake up the body in front of him.

"Sam? Where are you?" He whispered, "You need to get up here, man. I found Daniel Moses, he was…." Dean stopped when he heard familiar, weird, clicking noises. The sound of old wood clicking against old wood. Except this time it wasn't coming from the other end of the receiver as it did in his nightmares.

Whirling around, Dean saw his little brother at the doors of the office. He hadn't remembered hearing them opening. Sam was holding the shaman's necklace in one hand and a rather large knife in the other.

"I wouldn't do that, Dean," Sam said, with a vacant expression on his face. "What?" Dean asked looking from Moses' body to his brother. His hunter's instinct snapped on, warning him that something was wrong. Outside, thunder started to rumble and Dean could hear a sudden rush of water hit the house's gutters.

"I said, you really shouldn't have come in here, Dean," Sam repeated as he slowly walked forward. His voice sounded far away, hollow, and a twisted smile began to form at the corners of his mouth.

Once he reached the desk, Sam stopped and pushed up one of his sleeves to reveal a few painfully deep gashes. "And I suggest," he said, raising the knife to some not yet broken skin, "that you put your gun down and step away from my body."

"Daniel," Dean whispered, adding the pieces together. Somehow, Moses was possessing Sam. "Get out of my brother," he instantly growled. Dean noticed that Sam's entire body was shaking and he was starting to sweat. It was as if his every move was being fought against.

Waves of images from Dean's nightmares of Sam dying flashed through his head, he couldn't believe what was happening. He winced as Sam began to cut into the skin of his left arm. "Alright! Alright!" Dean shouted, putting his gun on the floor and backing away from the table. He stepped out of the hidden room towards the desk and circled around to the other side by Sam.

"Now, you're going to leave town and never come back," Sam instructed. "Oh, I don't think that's going to happen, Moses." Dean replied, slowly stepping towards him. "See you're a murderer and…."

"Fine, you leave me no choice!" Sam yelled suddenly and he took the knife and shoved it towards his stomach. Before he could finish the motion, Dean lunged at the knife and knocked it out of his hands. They both landed on the floor and the knife flew onto the desk. Dean reached for the necklace in Sam's left hand, but Sam had already gotten to his feet and began kicking him in the head.

On the third kick, Dean grabbed Sam's foot making him plummet to the ground. He stood up, a little unsteadily, and punched Sam square in the face. Grabbing the collar of Sam's shirt, he forced him to his feet, and smashed the younger Winchester into the wall.

"Get out of my brother!" Dean shouted.  
"Oh, yeah, like that's going to work…" laughed Sam, before he head butted Dean hard. Dean faltered backwards, disoriented. The shaman wrapped the necklace around Sam's hand a little tighter. "You see, I hold all the cards in this magic trick, Dean, and there's nothing you can do about it." Before Dean could regain his composure, Sam had clothes lined him.

Behind them, Christian Callaghan was slowly waking up from his stupor. His vision was blurry, but he could still make out Sam and Dean Winchester exchanging punches at the other end of the office. "Hayworth must've taken control of one of their bodies," he thought. He glanced at the figure of his once-admired mentor in a trance on the table and then at the gun on the floor in front of him. Callaghan surmised exactly what he was going to do with it.

At that exact moment, Dean punched Sam so hard that the necklace was knocked out of his hand and slid on the ground towards the office doors. Without hesitation, Callaghan hurried over to the gun, "Hayworth!" he shouted, aiming it at the body on the table. Moses screamed in dismay as he watched Callaghan aim, giving Dean one last punch before running towards his body. But he was too late, Callaghan had already taken the shot and was now puzzled by the lack of blood around the wound.

"Well, looks like Sammy's body is mine now, kid," Moses said gravely to Dean, giving Callaghan an angered look. "Hey!" said Dean as Moses turned to look at him, "I'm the only one that gets to call him that." Shock and horror crossed Sam's face just as Dean had reached the necklace and lit it with his lighter.

The necklace burned faster than Dean had expected causing him to drop it before a flash of blue light passed through the room. Sam's expression changed fast from rage to vacancy and he became completely immobile, both of his arms falling to his sides. Across the room, on the table, the pale-faced Daniel Moses suddenly became animated again and the bullet wound in his chest began to ooze with blood. Callaghan jumped back instantly while Moses fidgeted and squirmed from the pain until he couldn't anymore. Life faded out of his eyes and his last breathe seeped out of his mouth.

"Sammy?" Dean said, cautiously grabbing both of his shoulders and giving him a small shake. Sam kept staring straight ahead of him, not a worry nor a care in his eyes, only emptiness. Just as he was about to despair, Dean felt Sam slightly jolt forward. "Ow…." Sam moaned and felt his face.

Chapter 7—Goodbyes

Sitting on the front porch of Daniel Moses' house, Sam dabbed a wet rag onto one of several bloody gashes on his face with one of his bandaged arms. "Did you really have to hit me that much?" he asked, glancing over at Dean who was sitting down behind him. "As a matter of fact, I did."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Jerk."  
Dean could not help but smile, "Bitch."

Both brothers turned at the sound of the door closing behind them. There stood Christian Callaghan, his hands tucked in his pants pockets, looking out at the Christ of the Ozarks statue in the distance. "It amazes me, still, how easily he fooled me."

"It wasn't your fault, Christian. You had no reason to suspect anything bad about him," Sam said sympathetically. Callaghan slowly nodded.

"Well, at any rate, you two need to be thanked. So, um, well, thanks. This town can finally get back to normal now." He reached over, holding his hand out for Sam to shake. Dean cleared his throat as they stood and murmured, "Ye-yeah, well, it's what we do." With that, he shook Callaghan's hand as well and Sam and Dean took their leave.

"So the real Charles Hayworth spoke to you in your nightmares?" Sam asked after a while of staring out the window of the Impala. "Yeah," Dean said, hoping Sam wouldn't question him further on the matter. "I wonder how he knew to contact you specifically or….."  
"Hey, Sam?" Dean interrupted, wanting more than anything to change the subject. "Why do we always end up driving away from the sunsets?" He gave a small smile at Sam who had gotten the message and also smiled as he turned to look back out the window.


End file.
